


Tower's Fall

by FallenGabriella



Category: Last Action Hero (Film), Violet Evergarden (Anime)
Genre: Crack Ship to End all Crack Ships, F/M, Making Crack Ships, Violet is 17 at the least., What am I doing with my life?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGabriella/pseuds/FallenGabriella
Summary: Violet Evergarden ends up in a new world after Mr. Benedict plays with the magic golden ticket...





	1. Girl

**Author's Note:**

> What is wrong with me? I have no excuse for this. Someone love me.

She said her name was Violet. Violet Evergarden.

It sounded too perfect, syllables falling from between full, rose petal lips, pink and glinting with the pool water dripping from them. Vivaldi had practically jumped out of his skin, screeching in his sloppy native tongue. Benedict’s trigger finger twitched. He’d almost vented it, almost fired without reason other than he wanted Vivaldi to be _silent_.

His head was pounding. Slater had ensured that, his temples a constant drum. He could feel a throb behind his fragile eye, right to the back of his skull, aching down his neck. The gunfire was still ringing in his ears, adding to the pressure that was building and building.

He remembered it well, the sweat between his fingers, but his hands were dry. They felt cold, colder than the grip. It slid, slick and easy into his palm, branding the skin in a blaze that –

He hadn’t expected a beautiful woman. No, certainly not. That was the last thing he had wanted to see. But there she was, braids falling out of place, messy blonde locks spiraling and sticking down her neck. Her deep navy dress was darker, heavier, clinging to every inch of her. Benedict sucked in a harsh breath, brow furrowing as she gazed at him with eyes too wide, flawless glinting stones of the darkened azure sky. Impassive and utterly infallible, as if she hadn’t just mysteriously appeared in a mobster’s mansion wearing clothes from another century, and nearly drowned in his pool.


	2. Flawless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict feels like a cad. And he sort of is.

It was all he could think, standing in the hall like a cad, while sucking in shuddering breaths. Benedict rubbed his hands together, hissing at the cold backs of them, then scrubbed the calloused ends of his fingers into his eyes. The false one bulged under his probing, pressing against the fragile shell of its prison. His head rolled, thumping against the paneling of the mansion wall. Perhaps if he tried hard enough, he could knock himself out… His lungs ached with the air he could not have, could not grasp just as he could not –

They had looked so soft. Malleable and tipped by peaks as pink and full as her lips. They were pert and round, forming a lovely silhouette against the lean lines of her abdomen. Her ribs were not so pronounced, not so sharp as to distract from the arch of her chest. No, she was healthy, the slim slip of her waist melding into the beautiful width of her hips. She was elegance incarnate, made from a beauty that not even the greatest poets or artists could begin to dream of.

Damn the lines that crisscrossed her torso, gently puckering the flesh here, or the way they wound in crimson lines down the muscles of her stomach. No, they only added to the complexity that he longed to trace and taste. He would do it for hours if she let him, tongue stroking across all the dips and planes of her skin, roughened knuckles dragging across the swell of her breast. Teeth and lips feasting on her hips, thighs, leaving marks as he would to her nipples. Swollen a deep shade of crimson, to match the moist, quivering petals of her mouth.

Benedict snarled, jerking to grab the front of his trousers. God, but he was a bastard…


	3. Blink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict finally takes note of some... oddities. I promise Violet will talk... someday.

How had it taken him this long to notice? Her hands were not… normal. They functioned, certainly, as did her elbows and wrists. Benedict examined the appendages as she slept. In his bed. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose, inhaling to dispel the migraine starting at the base of his skull. He only ended up taking in the stale scent of his soap and shampoo, cedar and the barest hint of some unnamable spice, which clung to her skin. His jaw clicked in his ears, molars grinding as he swallowed the thickness in his throat.

 _Damnit_ … He cursed inwardly, forcing his gaze to shift to the window. The blinds striped across the distant night sky, where the moon showed half her face, and the stars spun in a jagged haze. Benedict narrowed his eyes, a heavy sigh leaving his nose. His attention shifted unconsciously back to her, half turned with her legs sprawled amongst the sheets.

She had taken off her clothes so shamelessly, his only warning the rustle of cloth, but that had done nothing to prepare him. He had turned, casually, assuming she had just removed perhaps the outer most layer when – Benedict had made to cover his face, partially shielding her, but the damage was done. The pool water was still glistening over every inch of her, adding a sheen to her skin, like a damnable goddess had stepped in from the rain.

He carefully took hold of her wrist, eyes narrowing on the coolness of the metal between his fingertips. The joint dangled like any other, the fingers deceptively crooked in repose, as if they were made of flesh and not steel. The edges of his lips furrowed downwards, his palm nursing the swerving arches, which morbidly mirrored tendons and bone, betraying a level of elegance that was… beautiful. Not as much as her, certainly not, but there was something about them… Like the well-fitting springs and mechanisms of a rifle or revolver. Deadly and full of such untapped potential.

Violet stirred, turning in her slumber to face him. Her other arm crooked, drawing into her chest as if she were used to embracing something in her unconscious state. Golden locks spiraled in generous, shining waves over her shoulder and face. Her lips parted, soft breaths neither visible nor audible except for the rising and falling of her chest. Violet’s legs shifted, his bathrobe – the only article of clothing he’d been comfortable with her wearing, because he was struggling enough – parting around the limber lines of her thighs.

Benedict’s breath hitched, eyes widening as he released her arm. It fell, the sound of it softened by the mattress. He stilled, waiting for her to awaken, but she merely drew the limb in as she had the other. His hands tightened into fists, nails biting into his palms as his eyes strayed far too close to the dark apex of her thighs. He reached forward, stilted and slow, weary of her suddenly awakening.

He grabbed the edge of the robe, drawing it back across the smooth ivory of her legs with a muffled groan from behind his lips. The plush fuzz of the article was a poor substitute for the undoubtedly smooth skin of her thighs. Benedict leaned back, neck falling to rest uncomfortably on the chair. He closed his eyes, placing a hand over them with another deep sigh.


End file.
